We Will Rock You: the Novelization
by East Coast Ryder
Summary: A story of triumph, hope, romance, and, of course, the Dreamer. Contains what the musical left out, a bit of revision, and a lot of insanity on Gaz's part. Minor edits to Prologue and Chapter One up. Chapter Six up.
1. Prologue: Sweet Dreams are Made of This

Author Note: Hey there, I've been going through this fic and I've seen a lot of changes that need to be made, so I will be revising things, some minor, some major. I'll let you know if there's anything incredibly important that needs to be picked up. Chapter Two (where Scaramouche enters) is undergoing a drastic revision, so it's probably best to reread that. The updates will be identified at the top.

Updates: A few minor edits to the second section. Nothing huge.

Disclaimer: I do not own the musical We Will Rock You, nor do I own the characters or the plot line. I do not own any musical references. References in this chapter include: The Eurythmics, Queen, and the movie "Newsies".

Prologue- Sweet Dreams are Made of This

All it takes is one voice.

**A light shone from below. The space was filled with people, thousands standing, sitting, cheering, crying. Not that he could see them, though. The lights shining up from the stage blinded him to the people outside. And suddenly, the light changed. A slow, almost apprehensive noise emerged, softly at first.**

Boom… Boom… Clap…

And that one voice joins with a second, and a third.

**He looked out toward the people. They wore shredded pants, made of some sort of bluish material. The GaGa logo was nowhere to be seen. He felt their eyes drilling into his soul as he stood before him. He heard something from behind him, and he whipped around to see…**

**A GaGa girl? No, she had hair unlike any GaGa girl he had ever laid eyes on. She seemed rebellious. He couldn't really tell. One thing he was certain of, she was different. Different than the people surrounding them. Different than anyone he had ever met, even in his dreams.**

**The noise grew.**

Boom. Boom. Clap. Boom. Boom. Clap.

And soon, you have a hundred voices, or a thousand.

**A whisper drifted from her lips, but the noise masked any possible attempt to tell what she was saying. The lights returned to their previous configuration, and he could no longer see the girl.**

**"What's your name?" he called toward her. **

**But the noise had grown so much that there was no way for her to hear him. **

Boom-Boom-Clap. Boom-Boom-Clap. Boom-Boom-Clap.

And no one can stand in your way.

**An almost buzzing noise arose, to meet the other one as if they were meant to be together. Then suddenly, words. Words that joined the noise. **

_We will… We will… Rock you… We will… We will… Rock you…_

All it takes is one voice.

**The lights began to flicker on and off, as a sort of song drifted to his ears…**

**But it couldn't be a song. It didn't even remotely sound computer-generated. **

**"Who are you?" he screamed toward where he thought the girl was.**

_WE WILL!! WE WILL!! ROCK YOU!! WE WILL!! WE WILL!! ROCK YOU!! _

**But the noise was deafening, and he could no longer hear anything but the noises. Echoing continuously as if it would never end. **

BOOM-BOOM-CLAP!

* * *

Www/Gordon (at) theJoneses (dot) com jolted up from his sleep. Or, rather, the lack thereof. Or perhaps this was the dream, and he wasn't awake at all. He wasn't quite sure. But he had heard something, something in his dream. A voice, at first. Then… a… beat? Was that what it was called? A 'beat'? He had to write that down. 

The boy reached over to his bedside table, newly downloaded for the sole purpose of holding his laptop, just in case he heard something important in his dreams. And he couldn't always remember.

What was the word again? Beef? No, that was some sort of meat. Be… be… Beat? Yes, that was it.

His hand touched the screen of his laptop, activating it and he was soon into his files, the secret ones safely hidden in case someone for some reason wanted to see what he had to say. The screen blinked for a moment, and his fingers danced across the screen.

"Beat", he typed. The other phrase… what was it? 'We will'… something… 'We will'…

Damn. He'd lost it. Just as he'd lost so much more, how Planet Mall had lost so much. He could feel it; there was something missing from this place. He sighed, and set the laptop back down.

Why did all these words, phrases, melodies, 'beats' appear in his head? Why him?

Of course, it only served to separate him from the others in the boy zone. They wondered where he got phrases like 'babe' and 'breaking free'. They wondered why he didn't wear the mandatory Globalsoft GaGa gear. Why he wore the shirt he had torn the logo from, the clothes that were not bright. Why he didn't have parents to go home to, why...

Why he didn't have a girlfriend.

He looked toward the wall screen of his room, in the top corner. 0238 AM. He had to start getting more sleep.

Or was he asleep?

He couldn't tell the difference any more.


	2. Chapter One: Jailhouse Rock

UPDATES: The last section- the interrogation- has been slightly modified. Nothing incredibly important to see there.

A/N: Thanks for reviewing! Hopefully I can continue the same way that I have. Well, just to give fair warning, I am not actually going to include lyrics to every single song in here. Also, I do not own any rock-'n'-roll references (I'm not going to list them all this time, because there are many), but anything you do not recognize is probably my invention. Again, thank you for reading, and enjoy the next chapter!

* * *

Chapter One- Jailhouse Rock 

Central State Library was almost impossible to find, which was why it was such a good hiding place. Stacks of magazines, posters, discs, and books were littered across the floor, the shelves, the tables. The place had a thick layer of dust over most of it. A solitary stool remained, the rest having been taken by the bohemians for firewood and for their makeshift instruments. Atop that stool was a man, with long, brown hair and tired eyes. He wore an eclectic mix of clothing, and looked rather old. His name was Pop.

How he had gotten his name, he no longer remembered. After being zapped a few times with the flashguns of the Globalsoft pigs, he didn't remember much of anything that he had not archived.

Pop had never exactly liked his job as a librarian, but he knew that the others needed him. Jon Bon Jovi from the Hotel California had once said that without Pop, the rebel bases wouldn't exist. But that didn't mean he had to like it. Besides, the Hotel California had been raided and taken over, those precious fragments lost. Almost all of the bohemians of the HC had been captured, and only Pop had escaped to return to the archives. Others had been evacuated to the Heartbreak, but few had made it before the raid. He had been _this close_ to being sent to the Seven Seas of Rhye, and he was not planning to get there for some time. Hopefully, at least.

But he had more important things to worry about. Like finishing his log before Khashoggi and those other Globalsoft pigs caught up with him.

Pop dropped the magazine he had been studying and whipped out his voice recorder. "Cor, they nearly got me that time. I must complete the rebel archive. Central State Library, star date June the eighth, 2307. I must make haste, for I fear my arrest is imminent.

"Although I never discovered the exact day on which the music died, it is clear to me that an ancient entertainment phenomenon known as Pop Idol played a central role. So many people had become stars that they were famous for less time than it took to play their albums.

"It seems that the Globalsoft Corporation acquired the franchise and replaced the human contestants with computer generated cyber celebrities. With no cultural stimulation, the kids stopped caring. Democratic government collapsed - and the age of GaGa had dawned."

BZZT!

"Oh, bugger," Pop muttered, quickly hiding the voice recorder as a shadow fell through the laser cage.

"Oh my. Oh my, oh my, what is this? Do I see a little silhouetto of a spy? Tell me, old man, why do you concern yourself so much with what is past?"

A tall, blond-haired man stepped into Pop's view. He wore round sunglasses (which always bothered Pop- why wear sunglasses inside?) and had a Globalsoft issue earpiece, which Pop assumed was recording the entire conversation. Dressed in a gray suit, he stepped even closer. This was Commander of the Globalsoft Security Division, Khashoggi. The most feared man in all of Planet Mall.

"Because it is only the past that gives us hope," Pop said defiantly.

Khashoggi grinned. "You've read the secret histories. You know that there is no hope."

"There is always hope," Pop countered, grimacing as he attempted to escape the laser cage. "Hope is our birthright!"

"Then where is it? Where is this hope?" the commander said, mockingly.

"Any way the wind blows."

Khashoggi suddenly became serious. "What do you know of the phrase 'living rock'?"

There was no point in lying, the secret police knew this much, anyways. "No more than that which the legend promises. That salvation is to be found there, at the place of champions, and that a bright, bright star will show the way!"

"Oh, god, I hate hippies," Khashoggi groaned, removing his sunglasses. "Consign this miserable creature to the Seven Seas of Rhye!"

"Crap. Make love, not war!"

He felt something settle on his head and electricity running through him as he was transported away.

* * *

_Ten years later_

There was no way he could go on like this. There was no going back to GaGa land, he told himself. No more Internet. No more www/Gordon (at) theJoneses (dot) com. There would be no more downloading food; he'd have to find it like people used to. He would have to live with the clothes on his back, with only what he had with him and nothing more.

As of the next day, he did not exist. After graduation, there would be no more Gordon.

But then, what would he call himself?

The world around him spun, as if he was inside one of the transports at school. He heard whispers, strange sounds, noises. He clutched his head. It was throbbing. Was this another dream? He truly was going mad. All these phrases, words, things… What did they mean? "WHAT do you mean?!"

_Galileo! Galileo Figaro!_

Another stupid phrase. He smacked his head, "Get out, damn it!"

_Galileo Figaro!_

Wait. Galileo Figaro? It didn't sound so bad. "Galileo… Figaro." He tried saying the name. "Galileo Figaro."

Well, it was better than the other names he had come up with. Who would name someone "Long Tall Sally" anyways? "Abraham Martin John"? "Nowhere Man"? "Sir Robin"?

"I am Galileo Figaro," he whispered to himself.

"I AM Galileo Figaro."

* * *

Www/Gordon (at) theJoneses (dot) com had been acting strange. 

Www/Emmeline (at) Globalsoft (dot) com/VirtualHigh/Teachers had known Gordon for a long time, since he had entered Virtual High four years previously. For months now he had been using bizarre phrases. He had once told www/Jean (at) theKenningtons (dot) com that he was "on the highway to hell" or some such nonsense. He had even tried to make a musical instrument in his technical studies class.

Gordon was turning into a bohemian.

It was hot. It had been hot for the past twenty years. The sun shone brightly down on the Virtual High Graduates of 2317. All of them wore the bright white GaGa gear that they had been assigned for their graduation, all except two of them, Gordon and a girl. It wasn't very surprising that the girl had on an incredibly strange costume, but as for the boy… He had at least worn his mandatory gear at school, if nothing else, but not this day.

So when he started screaming after the commencement song, she had to do something about it.

"Morons! Clones! GaGa sheep!" He yelled toward the dispersing graduates.

"Hey, mate," she said, walking down the stairs toward him. "Go and celebrate. Your life is just beginning!"

"Good," he said with a stutter. "The s-sooner it begins, the s-sooner it's over."

"Oh, come on, mate! You have so much potential," she said reassuringly. "You could get a job in any division of Globalsoft you choose. How about… music programming?"

The boy stared at her as though he thought _she_ was bonkers. "I don't want to program music," he retorted. "I want to make music. Real music." He stood up suddenly, as though he had some sort of goal to accomplish. "M-m-my own music!"

"Hey, mate, cool it!" She grabbed Gordon's ear and dragged him farther away from the school, into the courtyard of wilting flowers and dying trees. The maintenance crew had been lax. "Now listen, www/Gordon (at) theJoneses (dot) com," she scolded. Before she could finish her statement, he cut her off.

"My name is Galileo Figaro," he snapped defiantly.

Galileo Figaro? What was this boy thinking? What an odd name. "Nobody is called 'Galileo Figaro'," she finally said. "Where on Planet Mall did you come up with that?"

"I-I found it," he whispered. "I-in a dream."

The look on her face must have been confused, for the boy continued. "I have these dreams. And I hear noises. Screeching, thudding, b-b-banging, banging noises... and words! Words just drop into my head. T-t-too many words. Help - I need somebody! Help, not just anybody!" He clutched onto her robes.

"…Yeah. I understand," she lied, "and I really feel your pain. But, come on, mate." She pulled away from the boy. "You live in a perfect world," she explained, gesturing toward the school and the stores across the street. "What more could you possibly want?"

"I… I want to break free," he replied longingly. "I want to break free from your lies" – at this, she winced inside. She had tried to reason with him, tried to make him understand – "You're so self-satisfied. I don't need you. _I don't need you_!"

"Gordon! Stop this nonsense right now!"

But he wasn't listening. He just kept talking, on and on. Her heart began beating faster. He had gone _mad_! She backed away, slowly at first. Then she ran toward the school, to inform Globalsoft Headquarters.

He wasn't becoming a bohemian. He _was_ a bohemian.

* * *

"God knows I want to break free!" Galileo Figaro sang out. He wasn't sure where the words had come from, but they felt… right. It felt as though the words had been written just for him, in his mind. He looked around. The teacher had gone. It was strange, Virtual High virtually deserted. It was time to go. 

He looked around at the plants in the courtyard. They were dying of thirst in this heat. There was no one to give them water, or food. The once beautiful flora that adorned the school devoid of any true life. Almost poetic, he thought. He ran his hand down the bark of one of the trees. An oak, he remembered.

_Tie a yellow ribbon 'round the old oak tree!_

"Damn! G-get out of m-my head!" He punched the tree, and leaned his head onto it. "G-get out," he pleaded.

He hated it. He hated how he was different, and yet it empowered him. Knowing that he wouldn't ever be forced into servitude by Globalsoft, and knowing he would be free. He _would_ break free. Here, and now.

Turning, Galileo began to run. And he ran right into a man in a gray suit. Suddenly he was trapped, frozen. He couldn't move.

Maybe breaking free wasn't such a good idea.

* * *

The room was dark, except for a cylinder of greenish light surrounding Galileo Figaro. The boy couldn't quite see what was out there, aside from a few things with an emerald tint, so it made him jump a little when he heard a voice from behind him. 

"We've found your laptop, boy." It was that man in gray. Khashoggi? Yes, that was his name. The man stepped into view. Oddly enough, the first thing Galileo thought when he saw Khashoggi was that he really looked good in green. He walked next to the boy, looking at a data tablet. "We have read the notes that you keep."

"Oh," he replied, almost lazily. "So pigs can read. W-well, you'll be flying next."

The commander groaned. "What does 'a-wop-bop-a-loo-bop, a-lop-bam-boo' mean?"

Galileo laughed. Was Globalsoft really that scared of such a phrase? Did they think that he had some sort of code? "Well, i-isn't it obvious? I-it means 'a-wop-bop-a-loo-bop, a-lop-bam-boo'," he taunted, running his hand through his hair.

"Do you really have a girl named Daisy who almost drives you crazy?" Khashoggi continued.

"W-well, of course!" Galileo teased. "And she knows how to love me, yes indeed. Boy, you don't know what she's doin' to me," he laughed.

"Then where is she? What is her email address? How does she love you? How does she drive you crazy? Is she a drug pusher?"

The most feared man on the planet was actually buying this? He laughed. "You're madder than I am, pig! T-there is no 'girl named Daisy'!" He sighed. "A-although… I wish there was..." He looked down. Then his head snapped back up defiantly. "I-I just wrote it, that's all. I-it appeared in m-my head!"

"Don't play games with me, boy!" the man boomed. He removed his sunglasses and stared at the boy with wild eyes. "I'll make you wish you'd never been born at all!"

Did he think that was a threat? Galileo scoffed and shook his head. "Don't you think I wish that _every day_?" he barked. "Don't you think I wish that this wasn't real?"

A second voice called out, "Where is Penny Lane?"

He remembered that one. " Penny Lane is in my ears, and in my eyes."

"What are the Strawberry Fields?" A third continued.

_Strawberry Fields forever…_

The commander looked back at the tablet. "Underground, over ground… Wombling free? Tell me, boy, how do you do the mess-around?"

Galileo raised his head. "I-I wish I knew! Oh, sweet mother, I wish I knew…"

The green light disappeared, and the boy could now see the interrogation room clearly. He could see needles, operating tables. His stomach clenched, and he began to squirm in his chair, suddenly very aware of the dangers around him. He felt his heart beat faster as he saw the many people in the room, staring at him, holding things that he couldn't quite make out in the dim light. One held a cylinder with something squirming inside of it. He shuddered. Then, he jerked as hands grasped his shoulders.

"Galileo… Do you know what a bohemian is?" Khashoggi asked, softly.

"H-haven't you got it yet? I- I don't know what anything is!" he replied, shrugging the man's hands away.

"Excellent!" The man boomed, walking to a computer terminal near the door. "I think we've found you just in time!"

Several pairs of hands grabbed him and lifted him up onto a stretcher of sorts. He struggled, but to no avail. "The, uh, Seven Seas of Rhye, Commander?" One of the men asked.

"No, no, no, not yet. Soon, but not yet. First, I think this boy shall have his uses!"

The voice quieted as he was wheeled away, kicking and fighting. He heard the commander say something else but he couldn't quite make it out as a mask was placed over his head and all went dark...


	3. Chapter Two: Brown Eyed Girl

Chapter Two- Brown-Eyed Girl

Finally, the last day of school, forever. She had known for a long time that she wouldn't become a Globalsoft great, but her caretakers- she avoided calling them her parents- wouldn't let her skip out on the 'fine Globalsoft education' and 'honorable job in the Style Division' that 'her mother had always wanted but could never achieve'. The guilt they tried to lay on her didn't work, and she regretted not taking an early internship just to get away from those GaGa freaks. It was almost insulting to accept that she was the spawn of such clones.

Though, the more she thought about it, the more she realized _she_ was the freak. _She_ was the one who was different. The one who had no name. Well, she had a name, but she loathed it. What kind of name was www/Kaitlyn (at) theHoffbecks (dot) com, anyways? She had taken to just calling herself Kate, but as soon as she could come up with another name, that name would be far behind her.

Kate peered out at the graduates flowing from the school, jubilantly crossing the street to get a jumpstart on their shopping- not that they didn't already do that on a daily basis. But she hung around. It seemed strange, that for all this time she had wanted to get away from this place, yet when the chance came, she couldn't leave.

She supposed it had something to do with the nutter that was hanging around as everyone else departed. Now he was talking to the teacher, the one with the funny nose. The teacher slowly backed away, then gained speed, running toward Kate and into the school, not even pausing to acknowledge Kate's presence.

"I want to break free," she heard him whisper. Then, he called it out louder. "I want to break free!"

Such a simple phrase, and yet it seemed to have some sort of higher meaning. While she tended to avoid that nutter, he had guts, guts enough to say such things to people with such close contact with the Globalsoft Security division.

"I wan' to break free," she whispered, trying the sounds out. It felt… right. She looked back out toward the courtyard, and the boy who had been there was gone. "I wan' to break free." Kate flopped down on the steps, spilling several items from her bag.

She heard a giggling mass approaching from her left, and, just to make her life even more miserable, she saw one of them point at her. Quickly, she scooped up her belongings and tried to make an exit, but she was not fast enough.

One of them, dressed in pink, called out, "Check out the weirdo, girls!"

"Don't your mum download you anything _decent_ to wear?" Another, in yellow, asked.

Kate snapped at her, "I make my own fashion statements."

A third, dressed in purple inquired, "What's today's statement then, ''ello, I'm a pathetic, ugly little zero'?"

Pinky spoke up again, "How are _you_ ever going to get with one of the boys from the boyzone dressed up as some sort of freak?"

Another round of laughter as the fourth squeaked, "You're a disgrace to the GaGa girls!"

Kate could no longer sit and take it. She jumped up. "I ain't no GaGa girl!" More giggles. "And I'm not interested in the kind of boys-'R'-us, duh-brain, zone clones you hang out with!" She snapped, rage still building behind her usually collected visage.

The girl in pink, obviously the ringleader of the group, leaned forward and purred, enunciating clearly, "You. Are such. A sad. Loner." She giggled, as if her 'insult' was the best thing since html.

"Well, you. Sure are righ'. Abou'. Tha'. Bitch!" Kate mocked, imitating the other girl's tone.

"Oooh!" All five said.

"Face it, then, you're going to be alone for your entire life," Yellow squealed.

"Didn't I jus' agree with tha'?" Kate mused sarcastically. "I don't need no GaGa guy to make me happy." Yet, with all her retorts, she realized that the GaGas were, for once, right. She would be alone for her entire life. "Can anybody find me somebody to love?" she whispered.

Unfortunately, the girl in purple heard her. "Somebody to love you? Yeah, right!"

Blue giggled. "'Ello! That is so not gonna happen!"

"Stop daydreaming, and get a virtual life!"

"Look, someday I'm gonna be free!" Kate yelled back. "Can anybody find me somebody to love!"

A voice came from behind as the five GaGa girls scattered. "Very touching, young lady. But surely you understand that the company loves you. Arrest her."

She felt two pairs of hands grab her sides and she yelled out for all to hear. "Globalsoft equals fascism!"

* * *

Kate's head ached. She couldn't see, but she could hear someone else moaning. Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the light as she sat up. She was on a gurney, facing someone who seemed familiar. Oh, right. It was the nutter from school. He had a funny name, if she remembered right. He was slim, looked almost as if he was ten years old, and had the weirdest haircut she had ever seen. Well, at least he wasn't a GaGa guy. He had something- a piece of cloth, maybe? –around his forehead. It didn't take her long to realize that she had one, too. 

"H-hey, g-g-g-GaGa girl! Who are you?" The boy asked. That stutter was annoying, but his voice had an almost… musical quality to it. Although it wasn't anything like any music she had ever heard before. And- unlike GaGa music- she quite liked it.

She groaned inwardly. "I ain't no g-g-g-g-g-GaGa girl, and I don't answer questions," she mocked. "Who're you?"

"W-well, I…" The nutter paused, as if in deep thought. "I-I don't know who I am…"

"Oh," she mocked. "Righ'. Tha' must make things a bit difficult."

"B-But my name is Galileo Figaro."

Yep, it was that nutter with the weird name. "Tha's a cool name," she joked sarcastically.

He smiled, making him look even younger. "Th-thank you!"

The boy obviously missed the sarcasm. "I wasn't being serious," she said, rolling her eyes. "Mind if I shorten it?"

"Well, I-I guess Galileo would be-" He began, but the girl cut him off.

"So, Gazza, tell me," she said, laying on her stomach, supporting her head with her fists, "why were you arrested?"

Gazza looked almost annoyed for a moment, but his face returned to the confused, almost blank stare rather quickly. "B-Because I hear sounds. In my head! W-w-words and sounds," he squeaked. "I-I'm mad, you see."

Kate sat back up. "I was arrested because they don't like the way I DRESS!" She explained, directing the last few words to the guards that were almost certainly posted outside the door.

"I-I think you dress beautifully," he said, the grin returning.

"Nice," she replied. "'Cept coming from a self-confessed nutter… not. Wha' sounds do you hear?"

"I-I don't know-" He said, fidgeting a little. Gazza was most certainly nuts. A real character.

"Do. You. Know. Eh. Nee. Thing?" She asked, enunciating very clearly.

After a short while- although it seemed much longer to her- he responded.

"Well, yes, I… I-I know that I'm different!" He said, seeming a bit surer of himself. "Which is why the clones from the boyzone hate me," he muttered, almost under his breath.

Finally. Something they both understood- loneliness.

"The GaGa girls hate me," she whispered.

Gazza looked over toward her, for once looking serious and less childish. "Well, d-do you know why they hate you?"

His question confused her. How would she know if they hated her because she wore her hair long, or because she didn't own a piece of clothing with 'GaGa' on it?

"Yeah, they think I'm a lesbian because I don't wear pastels," she finally settled on.

He laughed. "They hate you because they're scared of you," he explained. So, the boy wasn't a complete idiot. "Because you're different. You're, well, uh… a-an individual!"

If he had that much knowledge, he might have another spark of brightness. "Wha' do you think they did to us?" She asked, pulling at the bandages on her head.

"I-I don't know," he said, staring down at the floor.

Well, she could only hope. Or maybe he had spent so much time on the outside that he could judge people. Just people "Do you think they'll ever give up and jus' leave us alone?"

"D-don't you see?" He said, with a hint of pride at knowing something she didn't. "We're a threat. Um…" Once more the dark-haired boy looked a bit confused. And then, it looked as if a little diode had appeared atop his head as realization crossed his face. "A-a virus. O-on their hard drive. And they won't give up, until they've p-pointed their l-little arrow at us-"

"-And dragged us to trash," Kate finished. "So… so how do we ge' out?"

"Um… Well, there's a window, over there," Gazza pointed. "A-and you- you never did tell me… w-what is your name, anyway?"

"A-a-a-and you weren't listening when I told you tha' I don't answer questions," she mocked.

"C-come on, I-I told you mine! And I-I can't just k-keep calling you 'you'!"

She sent him an angry glare. "Le's just get out of here."

Treading lightly as to not suggest anything to the guards, she quickly made her way over to the window. She reached up toward the lock and felt a hand brush against hers. Jerking away, she exclaimed, "Wha' are you doing?" to the hand's owner.

Gazza blushed. "Oh, um… I-I just thought you might n-need some help, you know, reaching it," he stuttered.

"You calling me shor', Gazza?"

"N-n-no!"

"I can handle it," she snapped, deactivating the lock.

"D-do you need help g-getting up? C-cause I'll help you, you know, i-if you want."

"I'll manage somehow." She slid the window to the side and pushed herself up, grabbing onto the ground with her nails and inching her way farther out. Her head finally made it outside and she could tell where she was: Globalsoft Headquarters, just outside the GSP. But she slid back down and crumbled back onto the floor.

"A-are you sure you can make it? I-I mean, I can g-g-go first and help you up."

She tried again, with the same result. It was clear that there was no way she would get out of the window without his help, but she could not bring herself to admit it.

Whirling around, she began to snap at him. "Listen, you…" and was suddenly face-to-face, or, more like face-to-neck, _very_ close to him. She looked up and saw him looking down at her expectantly.

"W-what?" He asked, obviously not quite aware of their proximity.

She took a small step back, put her hands on her hips, and sighed. "Help me up," she muttered.

"O-okay, then."

Putting her hands once more on the edge of the window, she felt him lift her up by her waist and she scrunched out, and quickly stepped aside as Gazza easily hopped out.

"So, now wha'? Where do we go?" Kate asked.

"Well, uh… O-out into the night!" He suddenly burst out. "D-down into the streets! We're rebels now! 'Cause, baby-" she winced "-we were born to run."

She threw her bandages down on the ground. "Don't call me 'baby'!" she snapped as he took off in a fit of joy.

"Heh, heh. Sorry; it's just a phrase I heard in my head!" he explained, turning back around and still laughing.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"Keep it there," she smirked, taking the lead as they walked farther out of the Global Shopping Precinct, and into a new life.


	4. Chapter Three: Underground

**A/N**: Points to anyone who catches the RENT reference. Along that same line, references include the original show/Queen, Barry Manilow, Neil Diamond, the Beatles, RENT, David Bowie, the movie Labyrinth, and many others. Odds are, I don't own anything you recognize. Oh, and shameless plug: Check out my forum and C2 for WWRY!

Chapter Three- Underground

Galileo and the girl had stopped in a broken-down alley for the night. She was curled up into a ball, resting and shivering.

_Cracklin' Rosie, get on board!_

_Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl… _

He, on the other hand, couldn't get to sleep. More names were flooding his mind again, some old, some new. Many were ones he had forgotten, having been without his laptop, his records, all his purpose… He was beginning to wonder if he was turning into a GaGa guy for not being able to function without his technology.

_Lucy in the sky with diamonds…_

_Fat bottomed girl, you make the rocking world go 'round… go 'round…_

_No!_ he thought. Granted, he wasn't about to look at her… bottom. Well, she probably did have a nice…

What was he thinking? He'd only known the girl for a few hours, and already he was judging her, thinking he knew enough to give her a name…

But, didn't he already know her? She had looked sort of familiar, and they _had_ gone to the same school…

Wait… She was the girl from his dream! The one with the weird hair! That was it. It had clicked.

Would that dream come true?

_Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the fandango?_

Scaramouche? It had a nice ring to it. What was the rest of it again?

_Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you…_

Will you what?

Anyway, it was a good name, but he'd have to run it by her in the morning. He looked over toward 'Scaramouche', still shivering. How could she be shivering? It had to be at least 30 degrees Celsius. Regardless, he slipped off his jacket and laid it over her.

Maybe he should get some sleep.

* * *

The blond-haired girl from the Scottish Zone listened intently. She couldn't hear anything, but she couldn't be too sure. She was cautious, even to the point where she had scared off a lot of Potentials. But there was no way that he could be captured, no way that she would be able to go on without him. 

It was dark. It was always dark in the underground, but it seemed darker than usual. It was quieter than usual, as well. It had been quieter ever since the Hotel California had been taken. Charlotte Friggin' Church had remained in the Heartbreak Hotel for the past ten years, mourning Jon Bon Jovi's death. She had been one of the most successful scavengers for the HC, but since that day she had not left the Heartbreak. Many of the others were taken by the SPs, and some of the best had gone.

However, there was no sense in getting all choked up about it. She was only thirteen at the time. It had been ten years. A lot had happened since then, and they had to keep pushing forward.

So she sat, and waited for the all clear from Britney.

"It's pretty clear up there, Meat!" She heard the black man call out from further down the tunnel.

"Are yeh sure the cops're gone!" She called back.

"I'm goin' up to the surface!"

"Well, be careful!" She paused for a moment. "I'm comin' up, too!"

"No!"

Meat climbed up the ladder and lifted up the pothole. She slid out from underneath and looked around, her eyes scanning the environment, looking for any possible source of problems. The van parked alongside the abandoned road was clearly empty. The sky was clear of any hovercraft. Their location passed her visual check, and she looked over toward Brit. He was clearly annoyed with her behavior.

"You are so stubborn!" He yelled.

"Yeah!" She returned his angered stare. Then, her face softened. "Tha's wha' yeh love abou' me."

He smiled. "So, what we got?"

"Not much, mainly plastics and hydrocarbons. But, we got a sheet of tin we can wobble," she began, going through her rucksack. "Some pebbles tha' make a nice ra'tle. A bo'tle we can blow 'cross, oh, and this swee' wire we can twang!"

"Sweet, sweet, music!" Brit smiled. Then he pouted. "Damn, if only you had found a piece of wood we could bang on the one I got…"

"Well, ah suppose—" She began, throwing her arms around him. Quickly she stepped away. "Ooh, yeh naughty boy. Ah found a nice, big, piece 'a wood righ' 'ere!"

"Not now, Meat! Now, you're job is to take this stuff back to the Heartbreak," he explained.

"But if yeh just—"

"No! I travel alone. You know that. How can I do the things I do when all I'm thinking about is you?"

"Wha' 'things'? Yeh know tha' ah can 'elp out. Yeh know yeh'll be thinkin' abou' me either way." Couldn't he see? There wasn't anything she wouldn't give up to stay with him. "Sometimes ah wish yeh didn't care so much abou' this stuff. Sometimes ah wish we'd never heard of 'da vibe'!"

He looked crestfallen. "You don't mean that," he half-asked.

"No," she said, thoughtfully. "Ah s'pose not. I's jes' tha' ah miss yeh so much, baby. It ge's tougher ev'ry time yeh go away," she said, putting her arms around him.

"Hey, baby, I'll come back," he reassured her. "I always come back. And someday, I'll bring the Dreamer with me." He squeezed her tight. "Someday, babe."

"Yeah, well, sometimes ah think i's us tha's dreamin'," she said, pushing him away. "Perhaps the music really did die."

"It's only sleeping, babes. It's in a deep, deep sleep. It won't be me that wakes it - but one day I'll find the man who can. And if I can just find that lost vibe, we can share our love with the whole world. And you know what happens then, babe? We get it all!"

"Brit…" She was tired. It was hard to have to listen to this every day. Difficult to believe after so long. So long of searching, hoping, waiting. But he continued.

"Can't you hear it, babe? Listen," he put his arm around her. "All the kids singing along. With _real_ music." She _could_ almost hear it. She could imagine it, the music returning, louder and louder. The Dreamer, finally appearing. He would be tall, strong. Like Brit. "They've all got their babies. They're dancing, singing, laughing. The whole world joining in."

"Thousands of people in fron' of us," she whispered.

"Rooms and rooms of them!" he said, holding her hands.

"Wit' their 'ands in the air!" Meat said, looking out at the crowd she could almost see, almost smell, almost hear. It was there, it would be reborn. The music would return. And the GaGas would be GaGa no more. "God, Brit, ah really wan' it all."

"We'll get it, Meat," he said, holding her close. She buried her face in his shoulder. "We'll get it."

"Ah love yeh."

He kissed her forehead. "You've got to get back to the Heartbreak." He handed her his bag, and she picked up hers.

"Wai'." She paused. Her ears were picking up something. "Inta the van."

"What?"

"Jus' go!" she hissed, moving into it herself. "Somebody's comin'."

They both got in just in time as the voices drew nearer.

* * *

As soon as the two of them had escaped from the Globalsoft prison, Gazza began to talk almost nonstop. 

"So, s-so what's your name? W-what's your story? W-when did you know you, I mean, how did you know you were, you know, d-different?" He asked. Before she could even open her mouth, he continued, "I-it's like my whole life, I mean, _all_ my life, I-I've always known that I had some kind of, um, p-purpose, y'know, s-some special destiny! Th-that has to mean something, surely!"

"Oh, it does," Kate said, cutting him off. _Does this guy _ever_ stop talking? _"That you're a self-importan', arrogan' arsehole."

He stopped in his tracks and stared at her. She rolled her eyes. "Fine. Wha' 'special destiny'?"

"I-it has to do with the stuff I dream. T-the phrases, they always come back to the same thing." He gestured outward. "I see a great, wide space. And people - people everywhere. And noise - huge, huge noise! And then - then come the words!"

"Ooh, wha' words?" she asked, sarcastically.

"'Seek out the place of living rock. A bright, bright star will lead the way. Go to where the champions played!'" He said, his voice cracking near the end.

"Sounds like bollocks to me," she said slowly.

He looked at her as if she were the one hearing things. "Maybe," he said, leaning against the van nearby. "Y'know, I-I dreamed a name for you too, I think."

Great, she thought. Well, maybe it would be better than 'Kate'. "How'd you do tha'? You only met me yesterday."

"W-well, I always knew I'd meet you. I-I always knew there was a-another… rebel, rebel out there! A-another wild thing!" he said, giving her a small punch on the shoulder.

"Okay. Bu' it has to be better than 'Galileo Figaro'."

"Hey! I have a good name…" He muttered, looking insulted.

"So wha' d'ja wanna call me?" She said, expectantly.

He smiled, obviously pleased with himself. "Scaramouche."

Scaramouche? _That_ was the best he could come up with? "Scare-a-_moose_? It's a bi'… crap."

His face fell. "Well, I-I did dream some others, but, frankly, I thought it was the best!"

If that was the best, she was scared for what the worst would be. "Wha' were the others?"

"Long tall Sally. Honky-tonk woman. Cracklin' Rosie, Ernie the Fastest Milkman in the West, Lucy in the sky with diamonds. Or… fat-bottomed girl."

She cringed. "Okay, I'll take Scaramouche."

"Yeah," he said, shrugging.

"Scaramouche!" she called out to nowhere. "Actually, I quite like it. Sounds kind of _anarchic_! 'S almost like wha' I think they used to call a 'tune'," she said.

"…Well, yes… Scaramouche, Scaramouche… Will you _do _the fandango?" He asked, reaching out toward her.

What was Gazza on? What was he talking about? "Are you tryin' to ge' in my _pants_?"

He snapped back up, the look on his face priceless. "N-n-no!"

"Well, wha's doin' the fandango?"

"I-I think, well, perhaps… perhaps it's dancing!" he squeaked.

"Oh, you mean like GaGa moves?"

"Well, yeah, sort—"

"Excuse me while I—" she mimed throwing up "—puke! Globalsof' write the songs—"

"Yeah—"

"They work ou' the steps," Kate said, imitating dance moves.

"Uh-huh—"

"An' every kid on Planet Mall does the _exac' same thing_!"

"I-I know, but… I-I think there was a time where dancing w-wasn't like that," he suggested. "When it was more, um… free. You know, sort of… individually expressive," he mused, suddenly deep in thought.

Gazza then proceeded to perform the most outrageous, most pathetic display of dancing she had ever seen, his arms flailing around and seeming to be holding some imaginary object.

"…Well, I've never seen something quite so embarrassing in my life."

He looked at her as though she had just entirely denounced his entire belief system. "W-well, it looks better when I'm holding a tennis racket!" he squeaked.

"T'would have to."

"Okay, l-look. Maybe doin' the fandango is just about being friends," Gazza speculated.

"Friends? Well, I never had a 'friend'."

He rolled his eyes, once more leaning against the van. "You amaze me."

She looked toward him. He may well be a complete nutter, but she had to admit he was an overall nice guy. And she supposed she owed him. He had, after all, helped her escape Globalsoft and had given her a brand new name, which was starting to grow on her. She had stopped thinking of herself as 'Kate' and more as 'Scaramouche'. "I always though' I'd quite like one, though," she offered.

The boy looked back at her. "S-so we are friends, then?" He asked, hopefully.

"If you want."

"O-oh, I do! I-I really do!" He said, moving toward her.

She took a step back. "'Kay. So we're friends," she said, sarcastically enthusiastic.

The boy giggled, a girly noise. "This is so cool!"

"S'long as you work on your dancing…"

There was a rustle from inside the van.

"W-what's that?" Gazza asked, moving behind Scaramouche, seemingly frightened.

"Great lot of balls you've got," she muttered. "'S probably nothing. Le's get going." She turned around and began walking past the van.

"Le's ge' 'em!" A deep, feminine voice called out from behind the van. Scaramouche felt her arms be grasped by someone, and she struggled to break away as Gazza was pinned against the van by a dark-skinned man wearing a… skirt? Yeesh. "Quick, bitch! Where'd yer boyfriend ge' those words?"

"What words?" Gaz inquired, not even struggling to get free.

Scaramouche was very confused. "Wha' boyfriend?" She looked back to see a thin, blond-haired woman dressed in an even stranger assortment of clothing than herself. She spoke in a Scottish accent as she continued.

"Well, 'e calls yeh 'Scaramouche'! 'E's read the fragments! 'E knows the 'oly texts!"

Gaz stuttered, "I-I don't know any holy texts! I-I don't know w-what you're talking about!"

"Long Tall Sally! Cracklin' Rosie! The words, man! The words from the past! Where did you hear this ancient and sacred poetry?" the man yelled.

"Yeh've seen the fragments! Yeh've been ta the 'Eartbreak 'Otel! Yeh're a spy!" the woman said.

"No, I-I said I don't know what you're talking about!" He laughed a little. "I-I just hear these words in my head, th-that's all!"

"Who are you?" The man grilled, pressing Gazza further onto the van.

"I-I don't know! W-why do people keep asking me that?" He asked, confused. There was a silence. "I-I am the walrus!"

The black man was taken aback and released Gaz as the boy continued. "This is Major Tom to Ground Control! Can you hear the drums, Fernando? I am," Gazza proclaimed, "the Dancing Queen!"

Well, at least the 'Queen' part was right.

"Meat!" the man said, running over to the Scot holding Scaramouche captive. Was that her name? 'Meat'? It was worse than Fat-Bottomed Girl! He began whispering toward 'Meat', and she couldn't make out much of what was being said. But the next words confused Scaramouche more than the silence.

"Then she's the spy!" She said, gesturing toward Scaramouche as the younger girl broke out of her grip.

"Wha'?" Scaramouche interjected as the older man continued.

"No! He's the Dreamer! The one we've been waiting for!"

"Then tes' 'im! And 'is chick!"

Was Meat referring to _her_? "His '_chick'_?" she called out. "Wha' am I now, poultry?"

"Tes' 'im!"

The man took several steps forward as a silence fell over them. Gaz looked confused. "A-Are they talking about me?" he asked in a whisper. Scaramouche rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to provide a sarcastic reply, but…

"Mama," the man whispered, almost talking like Gaz. "Just killed a man." He got louder and more- musical? Yes, that was it. It was music, _real_ music. "Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger, now he's dead." He stopped, and pointed at Gaz, who looked even more confused.

Once more, a silence fell over the group.

And then… "Mama, life had just begun, but now I've gone and thrown it all away," Gazza finished. It was amazing, it was… uplifting, even. Beautiful.

But what made it different than when the GaGas spoke along with the Globalsoft 'songs'? Was it the words, the 'tune'? Or was it just that it was Gaz? Was she… actually beginning to _like_ the boy?

No. It had to be something else. Obviously the others were awed as well, and they wouldn't be in love with him. So it must have been the words.

The man stood agape. "He knows the text! But he's never read it! He's the man!"

She had been right; it was the words that had impressed them.

Meat ran over toward Gazza. "Well, then, wha' does it mean? Tell us! 'Oo is 'Mama'-"

"Uh-huh-"

"'Oo's been killed-"

"Yeah-"

"Why 'as it all been thrown away?" She asked, looking at Gaz as if he was some sort of god.

He muttered something about not knowing, and leaned back against the van in frustration.

Meat looked back to the other man, seemingly overwhelmed by annoyance. "We've been searching for the meaning all our lives! And now yeh don' know?"

He grabbed her shoulders. "I-I tell you, I-I don't know! I… I just hear these things in my head! That's all! Um… Mama!" he continued the song. "Ooh-ooh!" The man put his hands over his mouth.

"You have to come with us," the man commanded.

"Well, no' 'er! We don' need 'er!" Meat said.

_That_ made her want to go even less. What did this lady have against her? She hadn't even officially met 'Meat'.

"L-look, I'm not goin' anywhere without Scaramouche," Gazza protested, putting his arm around her.

Scaramouche pulled away from him. Did he think he could just make her decisions for her? "No, Gazza, who said I wan' to go anywhere? These people could be killers!"

"We are, baby!" The man in the dress said.

"Don' call me 'baby'!" But she was unheard as the man continued.

"Killers, thrillers, and bismillahs!"

Meat continued, "We're the resistance! The las' 'ope!"

"We are," he paused for dramatic effect, "the Bohemians!"

"An' now yeh 'ave a choice. Are yeh ready ta break free?"

"Do you want it all?"

"Ta be a shoo'ing star! A tiger!"

"Defy the laws of gravity!"

"Are yeh ready to be champions?" Meat called out.

Scaramouche groaned. "Nah. Sounds a bi' borin' if you ask me."

"What?" Gazza turned toward her.

"I was joking, Gazza," she explained. "Of course I wanna go!"

"Then understand this," the man said, suddenly deadly serious. "If you join the Bohemians, you'll be an outcast, forever. No longer a member of the consuman race!"

"Sounds perfec'. Le's go!"


	5. Chapter Four: La Vie Bohème

A/N: With this chapter, this story has become the longest I have ever written, at around 11,500 words. Also, this chapter will likely be a little strange- I had to edit it and repost it several times.

Disclaimer: I do not own the title, the story, the characters, etc. Anything that you recognize is likely not mine. Those who recognize the "Matrix: Revolutions" reference are pretty much amazing.

Chapter Four: La Vie Bohème

This was it.

If he took one more step, it would be the farthest away from his module he had ever been.

Galileo paused. Took a deep breath.

He took a step. That wasn't so bad. He took another. And another. And he was no longer afraid.

"Where're we goin'?" Scaramouche had asked.

Meat had laughed, and then she had said, "We're goin' down, hen!"

She hadn't been lying. They had reached an old tube station, and had taken the stairs down into another world. It was suddenly cold. He began shivering as the two 'Bohemians' continued in their relatively skimpy clothing, seemingly unscathed. It surprised him that Scaramouche, who had been freezing at 30 degrees, was unaffected by the abrupt change in temperature.

He rubbed his hands up and down his arms as they continued. The walls were covered with flimsy, colored material that looked as if it had been ripped, torn, bent, and repaired many times over. There were words on them, like "Green Day" and "Weird Al Yankovic Straight Outta Lynwood Tour" and "The Matrix: Reloaded". Oh, right, it was 'paper'. He had seen something like that in a cyber-museum.

_You light up a mean blaze... With posters... and screenplays!_

As more words flooded into his brain, he shook his head. One of the Bohemians, Meat, had been behind the rest of them, probably to make sure they wouldn't get lost, or sneak off, or something like that. She looked at him strangely as he tried to clear his mind. She seemed a bit too cautious. Paranoid, even. But what was even more interesting was how she reacted to him in particular. It was as if she had been expecting more out of him, as if he were somehow inferior in her eyes.

The other one, the man in the skirt, was less interesting to analyze. He seemed plagued by hero worship. As if he had been waiting for this moment for a long time.

Galileo wondered why. What could _he_ be that was so important? He was just a kid.

They had been walking for what seemed like hours, through a snakelike path, with broken lights- electric ones, not fluorescent.

_The long and winding road..._

A figure appeared in the darkness. Then another, and another, until there were at least a dozen silhouettes, wandering about without purpose. And then, there was light. Light that filled an entire room, as train tracks- real train tracks, not the holographic, purposeless ones near the cyber-stations- appeared toward the quartet's sides. A sign reading "Tottenham Court Road" overarched the underground room as the silhouettes became people, dressed as the Bohemians leading him, in both tight-fitting and baggy clothing, with hairstyles that rivaled Scaramouche's. The sign overhead had been painted over crudely, with some unintelligible words and the phrase "Heartbreak Hotel." Everyone stopped as the four walked into the light.

Meat had accused them of being there before, Galileo remembered.

"Welcome," the man said, "to the Heartbreak Hotel!"

One of the people stepped forward, a man, with a jacket much like Galileo's and a dark marking on his face. "'Oo are these two, Brit?" He sighed, as if 'Brit' brought in people all the time.

"I think I've found him," 'Brit' explained, gesturing toward Galileo. "The one we've been waiting for."

The other man narrowed his eyes. "The Dreamer," he said skeptically. Once again, he sighed. "Just because 'e 'as a leather jacket does _not_ make him the wild one! 'E looks like another clone from the zone, if you ask me."

Brit appeared disgruntled, but then his face lit up. "If he's a zone clone, then why does he call himself Galileo Figaro?"

"Galileo?" The man bit his lip. "Then 'e must 'ave seen the texts; he's a spy!"

Meat rolled her eyes. "Which is wha' ah said!"

"Kill him," he ordered.

A half-dozen people started toward Galileo, all brandishing bits of pipe and metal. He tensed up, pushing Scaramouche behind him.

And then Brit obscured his vision. "Anyone who wants to kill the dude has to come past me!"

The group stopped, groaning and muttering things beneath their breaths.

"He hasn't seen the texts," Brit explained. "How could he? We guard them with our lives!"

"'E says 'e dreams the words," Meat offered.

"He calls the chick Scaramouche."

Scaramouche stepped out from behind him. "Wha' is this 'chick' business?" She called out. "Do I have feathers? Do I lay eggs?"

"Heeey!" The man who had been speaking said, walking closer to the girl. "Ch- Lady. We believe there was a time that when a cool dude wished to refer to 'is red 'ot momma, 'e would use the term 'chick'," he explained, punctuating his statements with his hands. "It's a mark of respect. Second only to 'bitch'."

Scaramouche raised an eyebrow. "Somehow I think you got tha' wrong…"

"Yeh? Well, we're gettin' off the point, alright? The point is this dude, 'e's a spy!"

Galileo stepped forward. "Hey, l-look! I don't know what you're talking about, alright? I didn't ask to be brought here! I-I don't know who you people are, or anything about your stupid 'texts'!"

The same Bohemians made more advances against him.

Once again, Brit stood against them. He appeared to be a force to be reckoned with, because once again, the others stood down. "He just knows the stuff!"

Well, Galileo figured he had to redeem himself somehow. "W-what are these texts, anyway?"

"Fragments," the other man said. If Brit was the powerhouse of the group, this man was easily the ringleader. "Nothing more. Stuff that we, and other bohemians across the Global Shopping Precinct, have found."

"We have scraps of stuff," another bohemian, a girl in tight pants, interjected. "Magazines—"

"Wha's tha'? Mah-gah-zeens?" Scaramouche inquired.

"Yeh, they're…" the man paused, searching for the words, "kinda like websites. But they're made of paper! You can _touch_ them! And pah-sters!" he said giddily. "Which were weird, static commercials, stuck to walls!"

_So _that's_ what those things were_, Galileo thought. Pah-sters. He'd have to remember that.

"We take our names from these clues from the age of rock," the man explained.

"I'm Aretha," the girl who had previously spoken said.

"Name's Sir Paul McCartney. They… they call me Big Macca," the man said, sort-of embarrassed.

"Ah'm Meat," Meat said. "Meat Loaf."

Another woman raised her hand. "I'm Madonna!"

"They call me… The Artist Formerly Known as Prince, currently known as the Artist Formerly Known as Prince!" A short man in a golden top exclaimed.

"I'm Cliff Richard," a different woman called, waving flirtatiously at the Artist Formerly Known as Prince.

A woman, clad in dark, skintight clothing, offered her name forward, a sad look on her face. "Charlotte Friggin' Church." She took a step backward and retreated to a corner.

Why was she so sad?

"They call me Bob," Another Bohemian said, stepping forward. "Bob the Poet, Bob the Rebel, Bob the Prophet. I… am Bob the Builder!"

Galileo laughed. "So-So who are you?" He asked 'Brit'.

"Me?" He laughed, a large, energetic sound. "I'm the biggest, baddest, meanest, nastiest, ugliest, most raging, rapping, rock'n'roll, sick, punk, heavy metal psycho bastard that ever got get-down funky! They call me - Britney Spears." The other Bohemians cheered.

"A-and what is this place," Galileo inquired further, "this 'Heartbreak Hotel'? What is that supposed to say?" He gestured toward the sign.

There was a silence that fell over the place.

"Get the man a chair," Big Macca called out. A group of people brought in an empty plastic tub, and set it down behind Galileo. "'Ave a seat. The Heartbreak is a rebel base. The last free thinking place on Planet Mall!"

"Where'd you ge' all this great stuff?" Scaramouche asked Meat. "You look fan_tast_ic!"

"We find i'!" Meat responded. "We're scavengers! Fancy a makeover?" A bunch of the other girls cheered. "You're a Bohemian now!"

"Well…" Scaramouche contemplated.

"'Ow 'bout some tigh' jeans?"

She shook her head. "I hate my bum."

"A shor' skir'?" Meat suggested.

"Hate my legs."

"Crop top?"

"Hate my stomach. And my hips. I quite like my arms—"

"Well—"

"But no' the hands."

Meat pondered this a moment, then got an idea. "Then yeh need something tha' accentuates yer elbows!"

"Girls!" Big Macca called out. "Please! I am talking to the Man, 'ere!"

"Makes a big difference from talkin' out yer bum, eh?" Meat retorted. The female Bohemians all laughed. "Go on, hen, ah've go' loads o' stuff back there, jes' 'ave a laugh."

"Seems it's you lot tha's having the laugh!" Scaramouche commented before disappearing into the other room.

"As I was saying," Macca said, "this place is a rebel base, but, it is also a shrine. A shrine to what we believe in! And a place to remember the long dead king."

"W-what king?" Galileo asked.

"Little is known about him, 'cept that 'is name was 'Pelvis'. A poor boy from nowhere, 'oo sang like an angel, and danced like the devil. A teenage truck driver 'oo broke free to become a mighty rebel— a rebel that spawned a thousand rebels!"

The Artist Formerly Known as Prince popped over Galileo's shoulder, startling him to where he almost fell off his seat. "But 'e was too wild! Too free! An' when 'e wiggled 'is 'ips," he explained, demonstrating, "'e made the kids feel good about themselves!" The other bohemians whooped and hollered. "So, they took 'im, and they cut off 'is 'air!" the man mimed cutting off Galileo's hair.

Galileo pushed the odd man away, mussed up his hair again, then asked, "Who's 'they'?"

"Predecessors of the GaGa collective," Bob the Builder explained, shooing away the shorter man. "They shaved off his tall, greasy, standup quiff, like he was a convict."

The Artist Formerly Known as Prince rolled his eyes. "An' they put 'im in the army."

"The King was forced to make foolish movies, and sing songs about hula-hoops to gangs of grinning children. He was ashamed," Aretha said.

"It broke his spirit," Cliff Richard commented. "He took refuge in drugs, pills."

"An' cheeseburgers," The Artist Formerly Known as Prince interjected.

"The King died young," Charlotte Friggin' Church whispered from her corner.

Aretha ran to comfort the girl, who was clearly grieving for something. _I'll have to ask about it later_, Galileo thought.

"And many princes and rebels died thereafter. Their songs have been lost, but their names live on. We remember those 'oo died young. Buddy Holly," Big Macca called out.

"Jimi Hendrix," another Bohemian called.

"Kurt Cobain," Madonna continued.

And a litany began, of dozens of names. Names that had meaning, truth. Names that weren't empty like Gordon, or Sally. Names with life. Janis Joplin. Tupac Shakur. Angel. Aaliyah. These were _names_. Compared to these, the names of his dreams were as shallow as those of the GaGas.

With a tear in her eye, Meat stepped forward. "Freddie…" She half-whispered. A silence fell over the Heartbreak as she began to sing.

The sound filled the room. Galileo felt his heart wrench, and tears filling his vision, as well. Even a capella, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. It was somehow _whole_, as if any music he had ever heard were empty- even the songs in his head. Even the ones he sang himself.

"Crying for nothing… Crying for no one…" Meat somehow managed to sing out even stronger than the rest of the song, even with the tears now freely falling. "No one… but you…"

By the time she had finished, there wasn't a dry eye in the Heartbreak. A muffled sob came from the corner where Charlotte and Aretha still were.

Big Macca groaned, wiping a tear from his eye. "Let's not get all heady about it, eh? 'S not what the Rock Gods would'a wanted."

"How do you know?" Galileo asked.

"Instinct."

Scaramouche poked her head out from the door in the back. "All righ', don' laugh…" She stepped out, dressed in a stunning display of non-fashion. Blacks and reds, fitted clothing that covered the legs and arms.

For a moment, he just stared at her. She looked so beautiful… How could she ever think they'd laugh at her? His heart skipped a beat and words escaped him, for once, as opinions flew in from all angles.

"Hey!"

"Check out the babe!"

Whistles and catcalls filled the awkward silence.

"Shut up!" Scaramouche called out.

"Yeh look 'Fergalicious'!"

"Naw, I don't."

"To'ally 'Rock 'n' Roll'!" Meat called out.

Finally, he got the courage to tell her, "They're right, Scaramouche! You _do_ look totally 'rock 'n' roll'!" He giggled.

She blushed, walking further toward him.

"…What _is_ 'rock 'n' roll'?" He turned and asked the crowd.

A collective groan filled his ears, and then it turned into more whoops.

"_What_ is Rock 'n' Roll? What _is_ Rock 'n' Roll?" Big Macca said, incredulously.

"Gazza, baby," Brit said, putting his hand on Galileo's shoulder, "Rock 'n' Roll is anything you want it to be!"

"It's sex," Cliff Richard said.

"It's style," The Artist Formerly Known as Prince said, indicating his attire.

"It's rebellion!" Bob the Builder called out.

Big Macca cut in, "It's _freedom._"

"W-well, yes. But… what actually is it?" Galileo inquired.

He took a deep breath. "…We don't know."

Mutters and groans filled the silence as the Bohemians dispersed once more through the Heartbreak.

He continued, "All we know is that there came a day when rock'n'roll— died. But, we have always believed that in time, there will arise a man 'oo carries the past within him."

"Someone who could remember," Aretha declared.

Big Macca grabbed Galileo's arm and pulled him aside. "Somewhere on Planet Mall there are instruments, there must be! And if Britney is right, you are the man who can find them, and rock and roll will be reborn!"

"B-but," Galileo protested, "I don't even know what they look like!"

"I do," Brit called out from the room in the back. Cheering met him as he emerged, carrying a strange object made of what appeared to be a wooden box, a pole, and some wire. "Been working on this for months. Can't play it, though. Fortunately, Lulu can." Brit patted a dark-haired man on the back as the man, 'Lulu', stepped forward and plucked a few notes. "Sweet, sweet noise! You see, Galileo, that phrase up there?"

Galileo's eyes returned to the painted words above the Heartbreak Hotel sign. Scaramouche followed his gaze.

"It says, 'When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world shall know peace.' What passes for music these days is only created for power and money—"

"Tha's righ'!" Meat called out.

"—which is why it has no soul. But when rock'n'roll started, do you know why they did it?"

"W-w-why?" Galileo asked nervously.

"They did it for their babies, of course!" Brit exclaimed, giving Meat a squeeze. "They did it for a crazy little thing called love."

"Anything else you need to know, you ask," Big Macca said. "Brit, show the man to a room."

Brit beckoned the two newcomers to follow him, and for the first time, Galileo stepped behind the exterior of the Heartbreak.

Behind the door lie an antechamber of sorts, where giant shopping carts held a wide assortment of objects, some with clothing, some with wood and rock, others with plastic jugs, and many more. He saw Scaramouche's old dress crumpled in a trash bin in the corner. There were makeshift doors leading to the sides and one straight ahead. They took the one to the right, and came upon a hallway, bordered on both sides by dozens of rooms separated by what appeared to be bed sheets. Some 'doors' were open, showing the true life of the Bohemians- a life without amenities. Without technology, without possessions. The rooms were on the train tracks, with boards covering them to form a floor. There were blankets on the floor, the occasional room with padding underneath them. Few had pillows.

But what shocked him most of all was that there were children. Not children like him and Scaramouche, but real children. There were a few that couldn't be more than two or three years old.

Scaramouche turned to Brit. "Were they—"

"Born here? Some of them. Others were taken from orphanages," he explained. "They shouldn't have to become GaGas. No one deserves that."

They walked in silence for a while. Or, at least, _they_ were silent.

Whispers all around, children wondering about the newcomers, about the ones who were different, even from them. Adults questioning their friends, bringing their children inside. There were the occasional awkward silences, but it was apparent that the Bohemians were chatty.

"Did you see him walking by?"

"Why would Britney Spears bring more… old ones?"

"Look at what he's wearing!"

Finally, they reached closer to the end of the row. There were at least ten more rooms, open, without anything inside. Galileo peered down the aisle and saw a cave-in at one end.

He turned toward the other man. "What happened there?"

"It's for protection," Brit explained. "From the others. There used to be half-a-dozen large bases scattered across the GSP. Now, there is the Heartbreak, and several smaller ones. If one fell, and there was simply an unblocked tunnel, all would fall. There are entrances. If you know where to look." He nodded toward a pair of rooms. "These two are empty. They'll be yours, as long as you need one. If you need anything, sheets, tables, just pick it up. What's ours is everyone's."

"Thanks," Galileo said.

Brit nodded and walked back. "Whenever you guys are ready to come back…"

Galileo turned to look at Scaramouche to find her already gone, the sheet pulled shut in her room. He sighed, and walked into his.

The room was small, but then, he didn't really need the room so much. He had a feeling they wouldn't be there that long, anyway. He had never seen this place in his dreams; so it couldn't be someplace they took permanent residence in.

He sat and leaned against the wall. So much had happened, in such a short time. It felt good to relax, even if only for a short while.

"Can I come in?" He heard from outside. It was Scaramouche.

"Uh, um... Yeah. Yeah, sure," he said awkwardly.

She opened the curtain a little and slipped in. "I's way too quie' in there," she said, pointing her thumb at the room next door. "You mind?" She sat down next to him.

They sat in awkward silence. _Well,_ he thought. _Make conversation, already!_

"Um. Y-you really do look nice, you know," Galileo remarked.

"No, I don'," she muttered.

"Uh, oh. Okay, then…" He trailed off.

Boy, he'd only tried to pay her a compliment.

"So, you're 'the Dreamer' now, Gazza," Scaramouche commented.

"I-I guess so. It-it's kind of cool, y'know. Knowing I really do have a purpose."

"Righ'. The 'special destiny'."

"S-so, you believe it now?"

"I s'pose so." The quiet returned. He started to tap on the wooden floor. "Well, now tha' you've go' your future all sor'ed ou', wha' happens to me?"

"W-what do you mean?"

"I'd be pre'ty much useless. Wha' do I know 'bout saving 'rock 'n' roll', anyway?"

"W-well, you have to come with me, Scaramouche!" He said, taken aback. "I wouldn't leave you behind! Who cares if you don't know? W-well, maybe you can—"

"Face it, Gazza, I migh' as well stay here."

"Y-you don't mean that, do you? I-I've never had anyone stay with me this long! I mean, d-do you remember what I said a bit ago? 'I'm not goin' anywhere without Scaramouche'!"

"So?"

"W-well, do you know what's changed since then?"

"Wha'?"

"Nothing."

Scaramouche looked at him and almost smiled.

There was suddenly a large explosion. Galileo jolted up.

"We've got to go," he said.

"Wha' are you talking abou'?"

"Go. Go!"


	6. Chapter Five: My Sacrifice

Chapter Five- My Sacrifice

Galileo Figaro ran outside his room to see that the Bohemians who had been in their rooms had begun to scurry toward the blockade in the back of the tunnel. He pushed his way through, closely followed by Scaramouche. They got back to the main corridor and pushed into the more common area.

"Wha' is goin' on?" Scaramouche asked one of the Bohemians who wasn't running. Charlotte Friggin' Church, if he remembered.

There was no answer at first, but then her eyes widened. "Oh, no," she whispered.

Galileo followed her eyes up toward the door above the sign.

Several of the Globalsoft Secret Police had broken through up above, and soon after, the man in the gray suit emerged.

"Galileo, run!" Meat screamed from across the room.

"Finally," the commander proclaimed from atop the sign, "I'm checking in to the Heartbreak Hotel. And so, Mr. McCartney—"

"Tha's _Sir_ McCartney!" Big Macca called up.

"—I say 'hello', you say 'goodbye'!"

"No!"

Galileo turned to see Brit, emerging from the back. He yelled up toward Khashoggi. "You'll never take the Dreamer while I'm alive!"

"Run, hen!" Meat called. "The future of Rock lies with you now!"

He grabbed Scaramouche's arm, and pulled her along with him.

"The way we came in is probably safe," he said, running faster.

"Wai', Gazza!" she said, stopping. "We can't jus' leave them behind!"

Galileo dragged her along. "Meat," he began, panting, "said to go. S-so, we're going!"

Scaramouche pulled away from him. "No, I'm helping them ou'!"

"No!"

She ran back, Galileo right behind. As the walls widened, he ran into her back.

"Why'd you stop?" he asked.

"Oh, my--"

"What is it?" He looked up and heard a scream. A figure collapsed to the ground.

Scaramouche turned around and buried her face in his chest. "I can't look! Who is i', Gazza?"

"It's Britney," Galieo whispered

* * *

A tall, dark figure emerged from the manhole. 

"Come on!" he called down. "Hurry!"

Scaramouche grabbed his hand and he pulled her up. She crawled through, panting and grasping her side. Looking over toward the boy, she saw that he was in the same state. They had ended up back where they'd first met the Bohemians. The van stood nearby.

"How did Khashoggi find the Heartbreak Hotel?" Gazza gasped.

Scaramouche thought for a moment. "They mus' have... some way... of tracking us!"

There was a silence while the two pondered this. What could Globalsoft have done? They hadn't been in their custody for that long... Okay, she was brought in... tortured... and then...

Gaz had gotten to it sooner. His voice got progressively faster as he talked. "The hospital! When they operated on our--"

"Heads! Oh!" She looked through his hair, his hands soon buried in hers.

"Ah! I think I found something!" he said, parting her hair near the nape of her neck.

"Well, cu' it ou'!" She squealed, grabbing a piece of glass from the window

He paused for a moment. "What?"

She grabbed his arm. "Gazza, if there are bugs in our heads, they'll track us down in hours! Cu' it ou'." She handed him the glass.

He hesitated for a moment, then slowly cut across her neck. She squealed as he pulled out a small metal object.

"Argh! He's had us from the start!" Gaz exclaimed, handing it to her.

She grabbed it and held it up to her mouth. "'Ello! Perver'! I's a shor' sentence. The second word is 'off'."

Gaz looked confused. "Um... what's the first word?"

"You are hopeless, Gazza..."

"All right. Now me," he said, kneeling in front of her. Plucking the shard from his hand, she poised herself above the implant and...

"Ahh!" he screamed, clutching the back of his head.

She raised an eyebrow. _Bloody idiot_... "Gaz, I haven't started to cut yet."

He stared at her for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh. Right."

Once more she raised the glass above his neck, and, in one swift movement, removed the bug. The boy shuddered, and she looked at the bugs intently. They were small, metal implants with little antennas coming out the bottoms. Microtrancievers. Good ones, too, to be still functioning after being inside human bodies for a few days.

"Quick," Gazza gasped. "Crush them!"

"Wha'? A couple of state-of-the-ar' microtrancievers?" She asked, incredulously. "No way! I'll just activate the maximum negativity spectrum."

"What?"

Hadn't he ever paid attention to their basic electronics class? She rolled her eyes. "Turn them off."

She broke off a piece of metal boning from her corset and used it to deactivate the small bugs. Sighing, she set the two on the dashboard of the van.

"We're... all that's left, Scaramouche," she heard from behind her. Scaramouche turned to see Gaz walking toward her. He leaned against a nearby lamppost. "The Bohemians are finished, the Heartbreak Hotel destroyed!"

The vision of Britney's corpse filled her thoughts. "Britney Spears died to save us," she whispered. "To save you."

"We're part of the underworld, Scaramouche," he said, sitting down inside the van. "Cast adrift."

Smirking, she commented, "I never belonged anyway." After a silence, she sat next to him and asked, "Did you notice? You've los' your stutter."

He smiled, a boyish smile that made him look young, like when they'd first met. It seemed like it had been forever since that day. "Well, I feel different!" He half-squeaked.

"We're both different," Scaramouche agreed. And she truly felt as though she really had changed. No longer did she feel like she was the only one out there who wasn't a GaGa. It was as if she couldn't see before, and she suddenly was no longer blind. Her purpose was clear. "For the first time in my life, I don't hate myself."

Gaz's face suddenly lost its boyish charm. "And... I don't wanna die. I've got something to live for!"

"The Dream?"

He shook his head. "You," he said, looking the most serious he had ever looked, with his eyes pleading, seeming to ask if she did, would, could share his feelings.

It shocked her. They had gotten close over the past two days. But still, she hadn't seen them as much more than friends. She sort-of saw him as a little brother. Was it really that hard to believe that he'd fallen for her?

He appeared to notice her silence. "But, uh, we will be caught in the end. You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah," she replied, shaken out of her thoughts. "I know. And probably killed."

Slowly, cautiously, his eyes on the ground, Gazza whispered, "I... I love you, Scaramouche."

A pause. Then, just as slowly and cautiously, she said, "I love you, too... Gaz."

He turned toward her. "Do you think, perhaps, just _once _you could use my whole name?"

Their eyes locked. "I love you, too," she affirmed, "Gazza Fizza."

He laughed. "And, if I have your love, dying... doesn't matter much at all. Does it?"

It took a moment for her to register what he had said. He didn't mind being hunted down and killed, so long as they were together?

When the boy attempted to grab her hand, she stood up, turning away. "I-I can't do this."

"Can't do what?" He asked. She could almost hear his face returning to the usually confused look she knew. Pressure on her shoulder. She shrugged it off and took a few steps away.

She couldn't stay. Not like this. For a moment, she had something that she could live with. And then, that _pig _took it away from her once more. So now Gaz expected her to love him? Well, she supposed that's what she said. But it didn't matter. They had met one person that could have made all the difference, which could have helped them out. And he had died so that they could live. She couldn't stay.

But, if she couldn't stay, then, where would she go? Would she let his death be in vain? No. She couldn't.

Turning back, she looked into his eyes, tears welling up but not falling. He shook his head, and she could almost see the hints of tears in his eyes as well. It was okay for her to cry; she was a traumatized girl. Not that she'd ever been anything close to a stereotypical anything. But he couldn't cry; he was the strongest person she knew, aside from the fact that he was completely bonkers.

And, in that moment, she knew that she truly loved him. She couldn't bear to see him break down. She couldn't bear to see him fail. And she especially couldn't bear to be without him, she realized.

The gap was soon closed between them as she buried her face in his chest. For the first time in her life, she felt arms wrap around her, holding her close, and his head, resting on hers.

They stood there for what seemed like hours, until Gaz slowly and silently lifted her chin up, leaning down and gently placing a kiss on her lips. They pulled away, and sat on the edge of the van as, this time, Scaramouche placed her arms around his neck, leaning forward and giving in to a part of her heart that she never knew existed.

* * *

Meat woke up, head aching. An eerie, green light filtered everything she saw. She sat, handcuffed to a chair, a strange, floating device nearing her. She followed it with her gaze as it buzzed past, to a second chair on her right that Big Macca occupied. It turned around and a lens-like eye narrowed, then the probe turned and flew away. Looking to her other side, four other chairs holding four other Bohemians were neatly lined up next to her. 

What had happened?

Oh, right. She remembered a scream, and hitting her head…

And Brit. Dear God, Brit was dead. All for some kid they didn't even know. She wasn't even sure Galileo was the Dreamer.

No, she couldn't think like that. The boy had to be. Otherwise all they'd done would be in vain. So he just had to be.

"Meat," she heard Bob call from several seats down. "You're awake. Are you okay?"

"Take a look at where we ahr, Bob. None 'a us is okay," she replied.

The Artist Formerly Known as Prince looked at her. She saw that his face was bruised; a trail of dried blood ran down his cheek. "You look terrible," he smiled.

"Yeh too."

A familiar voice reached her ears, gaining volume as it spoke. "Mr. McCartney, you're awake, I see. Tell me, what do you know of the phrase 'living rock'? Where is the place of champions?"

She turned and saw the commander, looking smugger than usual, hovering toward them on some sort of ship. He smirked, waiting for an answer.

"They're freedom words, pig! We dunno wha' they mean. An' tha's 'Sir' McCartney to you," Macca hissed.

Khashoggi nodded to someone out of her visual range.

"He's telling the truth, Commander. I've applied a search program to his brain functions," another voice said. Meat then noticed small wires dangling from his head, and soon discovered there were several attached to her, as well. "I've found no evidence of deceit," the man commented.

"Pity. Hurt him anyway."

Big Macca jerked in his seat and winced.

"Oh, and I'd rather you not call me 'pig'," he commented, floating by her.

"Pig's too good for you!" Aretha called out from the end chair.

The commander chuckled. "Hurt her too."

A shriek came from where the girl sat as the man continued. "In fact, hurt them all!"

At first it was a buzz, and very quickly it became a jolt, then a shock that ran through her body. It felt as if her whole body was on fire, burning up. Then, just as quickly as it had come, it left her still stinging.

"'Urt us all yeh wan'," she growled quietly. "We'll never tell yeh anythin'!"

"For what it's worth, your 'Dreamer' knows no more about the place of living rock than you or I do," the commander explained gleefully, his wicked, twisted smile growing larger. "He's just a poor idiot, parroting phrases he does not understand. Still, he led me to you, and for that I am grateful."

"If you're going to kill us," Bob called out, wincing slightly as he spoke, "just do it quickly."

"Please, Mr. Builder, Globalsoft is not some medieval inquisition! We're merely going to kill your souls— and empty your brains of such absurd notions as real music and individual thought."

"You're sending us to Euro Disney?" Prince asked hopefully.

"No! I was thinking the Seven Seas of Rhye," Khashoggi said, motioning to the people that were clearly behind them.

She felt something slide over her head as she jerked away. An orange helmet fell into her lap and she flailed, trying to keep the minion away from it. She would not go like this. Not like this. As she elbowed the man in the face, she yelled out, "Dreamer! Whereva yeh be, 'ear us! Follow us! Bohemians! Sen' 'im yer power! Make yer las' though's the Dream!"

The helmet was soon recovered by the commander, who activated it. She went limp, and her eyes blurred.

"I do like to be beside the seaside," she said in sing-song.


	7. Chapter Six: Without You

A/N: I know, I know… It's been forever. kicks self Okay, I don't own WWRY or any related stuff. References

Chapter Six- Without You

_There was a blur, and then, as if floating above them, he saw the Bohemians sitting in chairs much like he had once, wires dangling from their heads, laser cages surrounding all of them. Slowly, orange helmets were lowered onto their heads as one by one their minds were blown…_

"_And with a smile, I'll take you to—"_

"The Seven Seas of Rhye!"

He jolted up from his sleep, damp with sweat, his mind filled with the vision of the bohemians being tortured.

"Good morning, Gazza," he heard from beside him, the voice clearly just having woken up.

Oh, right. Last night.

"Or," Scaramouche said, sitting up, "perhaps I should use your full name— Shagileo Gigolo…"

"Scaramouche! Last night I had this dream and it was…" He paused for a moment as what she had said sunk in. "Shagileo Gigolo?" He asked, a smile slowly creeping up his face. "You really think so?"

"Oh, yeah," she said, leaning in and kissing him.

He pulled away hurriedly and stood up. He had to tell her about the dream. "No, there's no time! I have to get to the Seven Seas of Rhye! Look, in my dream, Meat and—"

The girl stood, groaning. "Gazza, there is nothing," she said, her hands on his shoulders, "and I mean _nothing_ more boring than people trying to describe their dreams to them."

Why didn't she get it? Maybe she was just tired. But he needed to tell her, tell her what had happened!

"But, Scaramo—"

"No, just trus' me on this one. It kills relationships stone dead. The morning one partner wakes up and says 'it was amazing, there was a rabbi', in a bowler hat, cooking an omelet… tha' is when love dies," she said, her face completely serious.

"He tortured them, Scaramouche! And he's sending them to the Seven Seas of Rhye!"

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I know."

Barely noticing what she said, he paced in front of the van, collecting his thoughts. "I think it's somewhere in the Europrecinct of Planet Mall. And there was water. Lots of… water… and… what did you say?"

"I know abou' the Seven Seas of Rhye," she said, rolling her eyes. "They're no' seas at all. They're rivers. Rivers tha' supply a lake. They used to call i' Lake Geneva. The spiri' of rock is very strong there. It's where they pu' all the misfits, the rebels."

His face lit up. He grabbed her hands. "This… this is incredible, Scaramouche! We had the same dream! It's like we're soul mates, split-aparts, kindred spirits! I mean—"

She put her hand over his mouth. "Gazza, I didn' have any dream. I jus' reversed the polarity on one of Khashoggi's micro-transceivers. I've been monitoring police headquarters."

Galileo pouted. "Gee. You really know how to make a guy feel inadequate…"

"Bless. Well, why don' you le' me make up for i', then…" she said, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

Tempted though he was, there was just no time. "No! I have to go to the Seven Seas!" he said, pulling away once more.

"Gazza, it's still pretty dangerous ou' there," she explained, sitting back down. "The police are bound to be lookin' for us… We should just hide ou' here, on this mattress, for a couple of days… maybe more…"

"No, Scaramouche," he said, returning to his pacing, words flooding into his head. "I still haven't found what I'm looking for! I want the world and I want it now! You can't stop until you get enough! Billie-Jean is _not_ my lover. She's just a girl that claims that I am the one. The kid is _not_ my son. Voldemort can't stop the rock!"

"Wha' in the name of all tha' is good in this world is a Voldy-wor'?"

"Nothing… Nothing; I dunno where that last bit came from. I'm going. I'll be back for you," he explained, walking away from her.

"Wha' do you mean, _you're_ goin'?" she snapped, standing. "There's bound to be police everywhere. I should go."

Galileo whirled around. "No, Scaramouche. This is my fight!"

"How'd you work tha' ou'?"

"Because I'm 'the man'!" he explained, walking back to her. "Britney Spears said so!"

"Which is why _I_ should go," she offered. "I'm dispensable. It's stupid to have you waste your life! You should stay here!"

"Right," he said, testing out that sarcasm thing that Scaramouche did. "Sure. You can go. I'm the Dreamer, right? Of course I'm going to let my chick fight my battles for me…" It was kinda fun. He could see why she liked it.

"Le' your _chick?!_" She said angrily. "Excuse me, bu' a' wha' point in this relationship did you take the arsehole pill?"

"For god's sake, Scaramouche, must everything be a fight with you? I thought you'd mellowed out!"

"Well, I haven'!"

"Look, it's really starting to irritate me," he growled.

"Oh, no," she said with an air of false sadness. "I think my hear' jus' broke."

"Look," he explained, grabbing her hands. "You're my girlfriend! I want to protect you!" Didn't she get it? He wasn't trying to be an "arsehole." He just couldn't bear to lose her.

For the ten minutes he'd been awake, it hadn't been a good day. He had a headache, had woken up much earlier then he had planned, and now she was yelling at him.

"No," she snapped, pulling away from him and sticking her finger in his face. "You think jus' because you go' your leg over tha' you own me or something!"

"You are such a pain with this constant female assertion thing!"

"Fine! Well at leas' now we know where we stand!"

"Yes, we do!"

"Which is no' together!"

What? Where did that come from? Galileo just thought they needed to just get to know each other better. And be a little more accepting, maybe. But…

"Well… i-if you say so!"

"Righ'!" She said. "From now on, our relationship is purely professional. We've go' a job to do, and we'll do i', and tha's all."

"Well, suits me!" He said. Guess there was no point arguing it now. "But I'm going to the Seven Seas!" Galileo yelled back as he walked away.

"Well, so am I!" She heard her call out from behind him. "And… and if, when we ge' there, you get caugh', and the Dream is los', and the kids are enslaved 'til the end of time, you're… well, you're going to feel a bi' bloody stupid, tha's all!"

He grumbled under his breath and just kept walking. If it was a fight she wanted, it was a fight she would get.

After all, he only wanted to make her happy.

* * *

"What part of 'don't stop me now' do you not get?" 

"I'm afraid you didn't let me finish, madam," Khashoggi informed her.

"Finish. Now."

He took a deep breath. "We broke up the Bohemian stronghold. But I'm afraid that the Dreamer and his bad-arsed babe escaped our clutches. I don't, however, see this as a problem—"

"You lost them?" The woman before him whispered threateningly.

"Lost them?" Khashoggi asked, seemingly confused. "Oh, I see... lost them. No, we didn't lose them, no. We just don't know where they are."

Killer Queen exploded with rage. "You fool! You imbecile! You talentless, flat-footed PC Plod! Those two _pathetic_ losers are making idiots of us!"

"They are individuals, madam! The most dangerous enemy of all! I'd rather face a massed army of nuclear-powered cyber-cops than that one crazy kid with a dream," he explained. He instantly regretted his words, seeing the look on his boss's face. "All right, perhaps I was pitching it a bit strong. But the point is that we're currently stretched to the limit! The summer heat is intense. We're encountering serious civil disorder. The rivers and seas that rose with global warming are receding again as the planet dehydrates."

"Who cares," She growled. "I like hot weather."

"We're having to drain the lakes simply to supply the Coke dispensers at the multiplexes, madam."

"That's absurd."

"Have you seen the size of the cups these days? They've been getting bigger for over three hundred years. Regular is now the size of a dustbin. Just last week a small child fell into her Sprite and drowned."

"I am sick of excuses, Commander Khashoggi. And I am also sick of you!" She proclaimed, advancing menacingly toward him. "With your weary, sneery, posey, schmosey, 'Look at me, I'm wearing sunglasses indoors!' crap! Oiling round the place with your snooty little booty in your Armani suity."

He stuttered, taking a step back. "A-actually, madam, it's M&S. They've really raised their game recently, don't you think?"

"Need I remind you that, besides being businesswoman of the year, I am also dynamite with a laser beam!"

"N-nobody admires you more than I do, madam… Your gentle manner… Your quiet, unassuming sense of style… your kind, forgiving nature…"

"Nice try, commander. You know what happens to people who disappoint me! I think I will have to blow your mind!"

And with a snap of her fingers, almost instantly he could feel an electrical jolt overtake him as a familiar, orange helmet was lowered onto his head.

* * *

They had walked in angered silence for almost two days. Somehow, he intimidated her. She didn't know why; he was, after all, the ultimate kook. And yet, he was the one person she feared at that moment. 

Okay, so _maybe_ she should have noticed the old trail underground across the Channel. But that didn't mean he was smarter than her. Only that he was more observant, which in and of itself weirded her out. And then there were his dreams, oh, geez, they had gotten loud. Last night he had been screaming something about not going to pay rent.

It hadn't been a good trek. She hadn't gotten any sleep, hadn't been able to pick up any news on the microtrancievers, and the worst part was she hadn't been able to maintain her hate of Gazza for any of it. But he expected her to be stubborn, and so she was.

And now he had to be walking at least seven meters in front of her.

"Oi!" OI! Slow down, will you?" Scaramouche called to the figure ahead, the first words that had been spoken since they had exited the tunnel.

"No," he growled, not even looking back. "You keep up."

"Well, I've go' shor'er legs than you!"

"Heh. Don't worry; your mouth makes up for them."

Bah. It was obvious he had planned that comeback for at least a kilometer.

"You didn' have any objections to it tha' nigh'!"

Galileo paused, turned around. "That… was below the belt!" he accused.

"Which seems to be all you think women are any good for!" she retorted angrily.

"Hey," he snarled, his tone serious yet laced with rage. "This isn't some feminist achievement course we're on! It's a battle as big as… as big as the planet!"

She rolled her eyes. "No, i's as big as your _ego_, more like!"

"Me? Egotistical?" he questioned. "Let's get one thing straight, all right? _You_ are a _girl_. You're slower than me," he ticked off on his fingers, "weaker than me—"

"Cleverer than you!"

"What? Just because you reversed the polarity on a couple of microtrancievers?" Gazza mocked.

"Yeah." She smirked.

"Well… my intelligence is more… abstract! I have the mind of an artist," he explained calmly.

"A piss artis', more like."

His anger spiked. "A rock artist! And I've got—"

"You don' even know wha' rock is!" She interjected, but he ignored her and continued.

"—a world to save, so if you hold me up—"

"Hold you _up_?" She hissed. "Listen, mate! We're in this together! And despite the fact tha' you are emotionally immature, scared of commitmen' and—" she struggled to think of something she could accuse him of— "you kep' your socks on, I'm staying!"

"Well, suit yourself," Gazza muttered, continuing his walk.

"Don' worry, I will!"

"Yeah."

"Yeah," she mocked, rolling her eyes.

He swirled around. "What?"

_This could ge' interesting… _"What?" she repeated, innocently.

"Hey!" Gaz said, finally understanding.

"Hey!"

"Scaramouche, stop doing that! Quit pointing at me like that! Argh!"

"Scaramouche, stop doing tha'! Qui' poin'ing a' me like tha'! Argh!"

"Don't you mock me, Scaramouche!"

"I jus' did," Scaramouche said, a false sense of playfulness returning to their situation. Of all the things she thought would happen on this journey, her being the silly one was not one of them. Gaz was the 'little brother' of their weird, twisted family. He was supposed to be the funny, less sane one with all the jokes. Not her.

"Look, it doesn't matter if we like each other or not. But we have to get serious—"

"You? Ge' serious? Wha' ever happened to the time-wastin' Gaz I knew? The one who didn' know what he was doin'?"

"Yeah? What ever happened to Scaramouche, the girl who never followed any call to duty or popularity or… anything? 'Marched to the beat of her own drum'?"

"I guess i' happens to all of us. Just waitin' for the hammer to fall, I suppose. And wha' the hell's a 'beat'? Or a drum, for tha' matter?"

Gaz paused his slow and steady walk. "Wait, what did you say?"

"I asked wha' the hell on Plane' Mall is a 'beat'?"

"No, before that."

"Just waitin' for the hammer to fall?"

"Yeah… The hammer to fall!" She could see the cogs turning in his head, a tell-tale sign that he was hearing things.

She raised an eyebrow. "God, Gazza, it seems like your sanity keeps falling away."

"No…" he said, shaking his head as if to get the words out of it. "It's just… something I've heard, in a dream… 'Toe your line and play their game…'." He started pacing side to side, muttering things under his breath.

"Okay, seriously, Gaz. You need some mental treatmen'. Tranquilizer, maybe." She sighed, rolling her eyes. "Wha' the hell—"

"—Are we fighting for?" Gazza offered.

"I was going to say '…Am I still doin' here?' but tha' works, too. We could jus' surrender, an' i' won' hur' a' all."

All of a sudden his face just lit up. "Well give it to me one more time!" He said, looking pleased with himself.

Anger bubbled up once more in the pit of her stomach. "In your dreams, mate."

And she stalked off, her eyes rolling.

From a distance she could almost hear him saying, "No, that's how the song ends, 'Give it to me one more time!' I didn't mean it like that! Scaramouche?"

A/N: Well, there you have it. Hammer to Fall. I kinda like how I sort of abstractly put in the lyrics. Not sure if I'm too pleased with it overall or not; if you've got any suggestions for revision, bring 'em on. I started school last Tuesday, so it might be a while before more updates come out. On a lighter note, two chapters and the epilogue to go! I guarantee the epilogue will blow your mind.


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